


Chance Encounter

by septima_sum



Series: Chance Encounter [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Holidays, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septima_sum/pseuds/septima_sum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had never entertained the idea of meeting Derek outside of New York. It seemed like a ludicrous scenario. Derek belonged to the city, like the Statue of Liberty or the costume characters that harassed tourists in Times Square.</p><p>But apparently, Derek Hale occasionally left his habitat. Either that or he had a doppelganger that was currently shopping for groceries in Beacon Hills, scrutinizing an assortment of low-fat yogurts with undivided attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Is it too soon yet for sappy holiday fics?
> 
> This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to share this work (either fully or in excerpts) on third-party websites.

It was a weird concept, being paid for sex. 

(Then again, when the money rolled in… you warmed up to it surprisingly quickly). 

After a year in New York, Stiles had registered with an agency that specialized in alpha/omega encounters, as they liked to call it. It was a lucrative business. Some alphas were willing to shell out extraordinary sums of money to share an omega’s heat. Of course, heat sex was considered to be sacred by traditionalists, so the whole heat-for-pay model certainly offended sensibilities; still, the practice wasn’t actually illegal. Since Stiles was a law student at Columbia and had no intention of ending his career before it had even begun, that was a good thing. He didn’t inform his dad of his part-time job, but otherwise there were no second thoughts or bad feelings involved. The money ensured that his student loans weren't totally crushing him and enabled a fairly comfortable lifestyle in a notoriously expensive city. It was up to him to choose a partner that he felt compatible with. He preferred not to spend his heats alone anyway. 

It was a win-win situation all around.

Stiles had spent his last three heats with Derek Hale, a banker working in Lower Manhattan. Honestly, if Derek didn’t pay him, Stiles would still gladly have spent the time in his company. It wasn’t even that Derek looked like something out of his wet dreams (well, it wasn’t _only_ that), but that he knew every line of _Firefly_ by heart, was funny in a deceptively deadpan way and had bunny teeth. The bunny teeth were especially endearing because he was a werewolf. Could you even take a werewolf with bunny teeth seriously? 

Probably not. 

He was too freakishly cute. 

Since Stiles knew Derek, the prospect of his quarter-yearly hormone binges didn’t fill him with dread anymore. It probably helped that the alpha had made it his mission to cater to his every whim. He knew exactly what kind of glazed donuts Stiles liked, gave massages that reduced Stiles to boneless bliss, and was patient enough to watch every movie with him, no matter how much it was dripping with sentimentality. They had watched _Love Actually_ several times, as a matter of fact. (Not that Stiles would ever admit that to anyone else. His favorite movie was _Fight Club_. End of the story).

The only problem was that Derek was maybe a bit _too_ convincing in his role of the devoted heat partner. Over and over, Stiles had to remind himself that none of this was real. They had a business relationship; money exchanged for service rendered. Nothing less, nothing more.

With Derek’s looks, it should have been as easy as breathing to find someone willing. That he chose to pay anyway told Stiles that he wanted the full control of the situation, wanted the guarantee of having no strings attached. In this business, you were paid as much for going as you were for coming. 

Derek might appear considerate and caring, but at the end of the day he was an alpha that paid an omega for the privilege of fucking him through his heats. That wasn't exactly a romantic concept.

Admittedly the sex was fantastic, the best he’d ever had, but what killed Stiles, what positively killed him – what made the nature of their relationship so hard to remember - were the quiet moments. The ones where he was cocooned in Derek’s arms and Derek looked at him in his oddly soft and serious way. During his last heat, Derek had even asked Stiles to stay a bit longer, to stay after the fever had passed. Stiles hadn’t been entirely surprised, because residual heat bonds were a thing, but still, he'd been pleased and all too eager to comply with the request. Even more so when Derek had made them hot chocolate and they’d huddled together on the couch, seeking refuge in their improvised nest of blankets and cushions... Stiles half in Derek’s lap and Derek running fingers through his hair, toying with the soft strands. They had watched the storm roll in, gusts of snow swirling and tumbling to the ground, coloring the world in hues of blue and making the noises of the city seem dull and far away.

 

*

 

Stiles had never entertained the idea of meeting Derek outside of New York. It seemed like a ludicrous scenario. Derek belonged to the city, like the Statue of Liberty or the costume characters that harassed tourists in Times Square.

But apparently, Derek Hale occasionally left his habitat. Either that or he had a doppelganger that was currently shopping for groceries in Beacon Hills, scrutinizing an assortment of low-fat yogurts with undivided attention. 

_What the--?_

Stiles wasn’t sure if he was supposed to acknowledge Derek’s existence outside of his…well, outside of his heats. They only ever met in Derek’s apartment. Maybe he should just hurry on. But it was probably better to err on the side of politeness, right? That was what mature people did. 

And Stiles was very mature.

“Hey, Derek,” he said by a way of greeting. 

Derek looked up from his yogurts. His eyes widened comically as he became aware of his company. It was gratifying. He looked as surprised as Stiles felt. 

“Hey,” the werewolf said. 

They stared at each other and just like that, Stiles’s heart tripped and skipped a beat. It was the tiniest bit embarrassing; Derek’s sensitive ears were sure to pick it up. “This is probably a stupid question – I'm pretty sure it is - but what on earth are you doing here? What brings you of all people to _Beacon Hills?”_

“I’m from here,” Derek said after a moment. “My family is. We live a bit secluded though, out in the Preserve.”

“What? You’re a Hale from _The Hales_ , you mean? You’re related to Talia Hale? No way!”

“I’m afraid so.” Derek smiled at him, a bit shyly. “Talia is my mother, actually.”

“Now that’s just crazy talk.” Stiles stared at him, awed. “All this time and we didn’t realize we’re from the same place.” He was dismayed that Google had failed him so drastically. His electronic stalking skills obviously weren’t up to par.

Silence fell between them, heavy and oppressive. It was weird to meet like this, by mere chance, thousands of miles away from their usual terrain. Stiles had so many things he wanted to tell Derek, but the low-fat dairy section of the local Whole Foods didn’t seem like the best place to start. 

Besides, with Lydia he’d really embarrassed himself enough for a lifetime.

It was better to keep his mouth shut and enjoy the moments of Derek’s company as long as they lasted. 

Stiles' gaze wandered to Derek’s chest. It was something of a reflex by now. Derek's torso usually offered a fairly nice view (meaning that he could give Greek demigods a run for their money and evoke feelings of low self-esteem in underwear models). Today, however… Derek wore a sweater. A red sweater that someone had knitted for him. It proclaimed in huge letters, “I AM A GRUMPY SOURWOLF ♥.” The Derek that Stiles knew looked as if he was regularly paid to model suits in the streets of Manhattan. This Derek looked more like a disgruntled cat that had been forced into a costume and would claw anyone who would dare cooing over him. 

Derek followed Stiles’ gaze and blushed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “My sister made it for me,” he said quickly. “I’m legally required to wear this sweater at least two times during the holidays. In public.”

“Really? What happens if you refuse?”

“I’ve been too terrified to find out,” Derek grumbled. “She has collected lots of blackmail material over the years, though. I was a weird kid. I went through a lot of phases. A goth phase. A hip hop phase. At one point I tried to run away and hitchhike to New Orleans to become a mime artist.”

Stiles laughed so loud that several other customers eyed him with irritation. “That’s priceless!”

“It was all very romantic in my mind,” Derek said with a wistful smile. “I had this idea about being dedicated solely to my art and struggling to survive on the streets. “

“Yeah well, you probably would have achieved that particular goal…”

“It’s better I didn’t.”

“I have to agree.” Stiles bit his lower lip, another grin threatening to break free. “A mime artist, though? With a face full of sad makeup and everything?”

“Silent acting has a very long tradition. It’s an underappreciated art form,” Derek replied with more than just a hint of defensiveness. 

“Of course, of course,” Stiles said, trying to placate. “Maybe you should show me sometime. Put on a little sexy silent show just for me, how 'bout that?”

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Derek complained. “That’s unnecessarily cruel.”

“I’m not making fun of you! I’m just trying to be…open-minded and supportive.”

“My sister said something similar,” Derek said and looked at Stiles mock-reprovingly. “Of course, she then went and filmed me while I was rehearsing my show. She has used that as blackmail material ever since. Recently, she threatened to send it to my business associates if I didn’t come home for Christmas.”

“Wow. She's ruthless.”

“Tell me about it. I live in a constant state of fear.”

“So that’s why you’re wearing the sweater.”

“Exactly. Because I have no other choice.” 

Stiles grinned. “Don’t worry, you look good in it. I think there is literally no piece of clothing that could ruin what you got going on.”

Derek smiled at him gratefully. 

The sight made heat pool in Stiles’ belly. To be fair, Derek’s smile was gorgeous. It made Stiles’s knees go weak and his brain think unhealthy thoughts, like how much he wanted to pinch Derek’s cheeks, or mess up his hair, or fall into his arms. Not necessarily in that order. Honestly, he was starting to get angry at himself. He would do well to remember that Derek paid him for sex on a regular basis. There was nothing between them beyond that. He was behaving like a lovesick teenager. (And lovesick teenagers were the _worst_. He could attest to that, having been one himself).

With a start, Stiles realized he had inched closer to Derek. Or had Derek gotten closer to him? Either way, they were standing quite close to each other by now. Closer than normal.

It was an opportune moment to notice just how kissable Derek’s lips looked.

_I shouldn’t make out in front of dairy products._

_I have more class than that._

_Only low-life people make out in front of low-fat yogurts._

They were interrupted doing – whatever they were doing – by a familiar voice. 

“Stiles, do you know where to find-” his dad stopped and looked at them, surprised. “Hello Derek! I haven’t seen you in a while.” He eyed both of them with curiosity. “You two know each other?”

Stiles shrugged and muttered an evasive, “sort of”, while Derek yelped, almost panicked, “no!” 

His dad looked between them. “Well… which one is it?”

“We ran into each other in New York, maybe once or twice,” Stiles said, starting to sweat despite the chilling vicinity of the dairy cases. “Manhattan is a village. You know how it is.”

“Hm,” his dad replied, non-committally. 

Derek looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He eyed Stiles’s dad with a look of horror that suggested his own death was imminent and would be excruciatingly painful. 

A few moments of silence stretched between them. 

Stiles desperately tried to find something to talk about, _anything,_ but for once his mind was completely wiped blank and refused to cooperate. 

Figured.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you, Derek,” his dad said eventually. “Give Talia and Greg my best regards, would you?”

Derek nodded. Looking relieved, he scurried off like he had just been pardoned.

Stiles’ gaze followed his retreating form for a few moments. He wondered if he would run into Derek again. His next heat wasn't due for another one and a half months. It would be nice to see Derek sooner than that. When he darted a glance at this dad, he found his gaze already fixed on him. His dad frowned a little.

“That was interesting,” he offered. 

Stiles groaned silently. He knew that tone. That tone was reserved solely for Stiles. And for suspects. He began to move the shopping cart. “Was it? Really? Maybe you need to reevaluate your standards for interesting events. I know this is Beacon Hills, but come on.”

“Did you know that Laura Hale is my best deputy? She's Derek’s sister.”

“Nope. Did not know that.”

“We’ve been talking a lot the last few months. She has a big family, lots of siblings and nieces and nephews, and she constantly tells everyone about them.”

“I don’t know where this is going, but you're starting to scare me.”

“She told me something pretty funny.”

“Uh-oh.”

“She said her brother Derek has been moping for months.”

“Ha. You're right. That is funny. The laugh out loud, roll on the floor kind of funny. Hilarious.”

“He seems to be enamored with someone. It worries Laura.”

“Um…”

“I think the exact words she used were, _sickingly infatuated_ and _won’t shut up about him. Looks like a kicked puppy most of the time.”_

“That's interesting and everything, but-“

“As it is, he seems to be in love with an omega several years his junior.”

Stiles’s chest constricted painfully. He could do without details of Derek’s private life. It was like a kind of medieval torture, hearing about his client’s love life. “That has been known to happen.”

“You know what? She also told me that the omega in question studies law at Columbia.”

Stiles frowned. 

“According to Derek, that law student is… what were her words? _Talkative, sarcastic, and hyperactive._ I think the words _force of nature_ were used.”

“That description would fit basically anyone.” But even as he denied it, Stiles felt a tiny spark of hope stuttering to life. How many omega law students could Derek possibly know? How many talkative, sarcastic, hyperactive law students? Studying at Columbia, no less?

“The description fits some more than others,” his dad said, giving him a sly look. “Son, you wanna tell me something?”

_I’m a sort of part-time prostitute?_

_I’m in love with Derek._

_He is the most amazing guy I know._

“Not particularly.”

His dad muttered, “pity.” He gave Stiles his patented look of parental disappointment, obviously trying to guilt-trip his one and only son into a confessing mood. As if that had ever worked. “But if you ever want to talk about something, maybe particular werewolves acquaintances, let me know. You know where to find me.”

Stiles glowered at him and mentally revised the shopping list. He had vowed to be kind and benevolent, _a merciful god_ , but his dad had blown his chances. He would go forth and get the ingredients for an eggplant and broccoli lasagna.

Revenge would be healthy and highly nutritious.

 

*

 

A few days later, Stiles opened the mailbox and retrieved a wine-red holiday card that was addressed to him. He snorted when he saw the cover. It featured Santa Claus and a few elves trying to club a group of… zombie reindeers? It read: _“Save yourselves from zombie reindeers, Fa la la la la, la la la Aaaaaaaaaah!”_

And then he turned to card and had to grip the mailbox to remain upright.

The card was from _Derek._

 

 _Dear Stiles,_

_Because it's Christmas (and at Christmas you tell the truth) - let me say, without hope or agenda:_

_**To me, you are perfect.** _

_I’m not exactly good at expressing my feelings, but I know you love this movie (even if you still pretend Fight Club is your number one favorite - don’t worry, your secret is safe with me), so I hope you will excuse me stealing that line._

_I should probably tell you this directly, but I know I would freeze up and stay quiet. And then I’d be back where I started._

_I think you’re the smartest, most adorable guy I have ever met. The first time I saw you, you were smiling and couldn’t keep your hands still and I was so distracted I didn’t hear a single word you said. And then I had the privilege of getting to know you better, of really listening to you. I discovered how much you care about your friends and family. I discovered how much you hate the early mornings. (It might be the one time where you are actually quieter than me – all disgruntled and in zombie mode and ready to kill for coffee). I learned how much you crave contact – not just sex, but simply being touched, no matter how casually. You lean into every single touch, did you know that? You’re witty and sharp, and sometimes you hide behind your sarcasm. You can use it like a shield, to deflect._

_But I think there were moments when that shield wasn’t there. Quite a lot of moments, actually._

_Truth to be told, it’s still not nearly enough for me._

_If you throw this card away, we will pretend this never happened. It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable. Throw this card away and I won’t say a single word about it._

_But I thought you should know how much I want to take you on a date._

_A real one._

_Derek_

 

In hindsight it was fortunate that no one else was present as Stiles read the card, because Stiles might possibly have punched the air. Possibly. And he might have done a little victory dance. As much as he tried, he didn’t quite manage to wipe the grin from his face when he went inside again. He held the card reverentially in his hand, in equal measured awed and disbelieving. 

God, Derek was _such_ an idiot! Derek had honestly confessed his love for him through a seasonal greeting card. 

Derek. 

Derek had confessed his _love_ for Stiles.

_Oh my fucking god._

This wasn't happening. 

Still in a daze, Stiles went back inside. 

“Good news?” his dad asked, looking up from his newspaper. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Stiles said and grinned so widely that he was under the risk of straining something. 

His dad sighed, fixating the newspaper again. “Son, you're an atrocious liar. I have no idea what you're going to do once you're a lawyer.”

“I'm not a bad liar! I'm above average. Like, at least two standard deviations.”

“So there was nothing _special_ in the mailbox?”

“Indeed.”

“Nothing that is in any form related to a particular werewolf?”

“You got it.” 

His dad sighed again (more deeply this time). “Maybe they'll give you some pro bono pity cases.”

Stiles glared at his dad. He was going to be an awesome lawyer. But first, he was going to get himself a hot piece of werewolf ass. 

_Priorities._

It was all about priorities.

He went upstairs and angled for his phone, looking up Derek's contact. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This thing is unbeta’d, so constructive criticism is very welcome.
> 
> You can chat with me at septima-sum.tumblr.com. 
> 
> 6/30/15: Some editing and minor touch-ups (most noticeably in the first and last paragraph). The ending is now slightly different.
> 
> 8/23/15: I can't promise anything, but just fyi – I've begun to write on a prequel _and_ on a sequel to this story. I really thought I was finished with it, but what do I know? Not a whole lot, apparently. ;-)


End file.
